This Path, Alone
by Deborah Malakis
Summary: A look into Snape's mind, After HBP, before DH. Angsty.


_This Path, Alone_

Dumbledore, how can you be sure it will work that way? You take too much for granted. Maybe I don't want to do it anymore. Have you considered that?"

"Severus, you agreed to do it, and that's the end of it. It's the only way to keep Draco from really going over to the Dark side. I'm not holding my breath for it to happen either, but, should the occasion arise, it will be necessary."

Severus Snape looked away from the Headmaster. Why was he always the one who had to do the hardest thing? Well, he knew the answer to that. Because he was the one you could most easily believe evil. And he was the one who could get it done. Just do it. Without regard to what others said. At least not before the deed was done, anyway. Now he was supposed to kill Dumbledore. _Dumbledore_, who had always been the heart of the fight against Voldemort. It certainly wasn't he, Snape, or Potter, the pathetic little boy who had survived for so many years out of luck, a bit of talent, and better friends, or anyone else in the Order. Let alone anyone outside of it. Dumbledore was the person who could see the light in people, even when they could not see it in themselves. He was the one who had the pure heart to keep it going. But his life might end soon, and then all that would change, forever.

Snape dragged Draco Malfoy along, his rage not subsiding as he looked over his shoulder to see Potter lying on the ground. "Come _ON!_" he roared, taking the sniveling boy by the collar of his robes. They were in the Forbidden Forest, their only hope to get over the border of the grounds and Disapparate.

Snape looked at Draco. He dragged him off the path and tried to get Draco to run. But he wouldn't, he just stumbled around pathetically, every now and then words being distinguishable, such as, "He'll kill... Going to die... Family... Everyone..." Snape had had just about enough. He grasped Draco by the arm, pulling him over the border of the Hogwarts grounds.

"Hold on," he snarled before he turned on the spot, and was gone from the scene.

They were standing in an unlit hallway. Snape let Draco go and looked away. He walked through the door nearest him, its characteristic ajar telling him who was within.

"Hello, Snape," said a high, cold voice. Lord Voldemort turned to face the sallow-skinned Death Eater.

"My Lord," murmured Snape, giving a one-armed bow, simple yet clearly heavy with respect. Snape had never crawled towards the Dark Lord, as other Death Eaters had. He had never kissed his cloak, or even called him 'Master'. He had decided long ago that those things were part of the conduct of slaves, worms, and petty cowards. He was not a slave, and wouldn't dignify the other two terms by speaking of them. Voldemort had never seemed to expect these things from Snape, either. It was as if they had an unspoken understanding. Snape and Voldemort both knew those things were below them both. Not below the arrogant Lucius Malfoy, not below the regal Bellatrix Lestrange…but never the less below the two occupants of the room.

"What has happened, Snape?" said Voldemort. His eyes, unlike when he spoke to most Death Eaters, were on his face.

"Draco found himself unable to perform the task. Members of the Order were coming, so I did it instead." Snape did not offer any excuse. He knew he didn't need one. Voldemort's lip had curled into a sneer. Snape knew that was a good sign. It was the Dark Lord's version of a smile in these circumstances.

"You have done well, Snape. I should have assigned the task to you in the first place. Were it not for my desire to possibly keep your position as a spy for a little longer, I would have done so from the beginning. I made a mistake in not realizing the Malfoy family is nothing but a group of failures. But you, Snape, you will be rewarded for your work." Snape said nothing. He was very familiar by now with this habit of Voldemort's. The Dark Lord was truly rather simple in his ways, though they were surrounded by complex trains of thought and loops of plan.

"Snape," said Voldemort, "I think you've earned a little break. Some time off."

"Thank you, my Lord," said Snape, knowing full-well that this promise could be forgotten at any moment. He felt hollow under his cold, unreadable exterior. It was really sinking in now. Dumbledore was _dead._ "Very well, Snape, you may go. Leave the Malfoy boy," said Voldemort. "Yes, my Lord." said Snape, and Disapparated.

He was in his house on Spinner's End. No one from the Order besides Dumbledore had ever known where he lived, so he didn't need to worry about anyone coming after him.

Snape leaned forward, banging his head against a bookshelf, leaning on it for support. _Dumbledore was dead. _He was alone now. No one would ever believe he was on the Light side again, until, perhaps, he died in some battle or another. This was his purpose in life. To do the right thing. To be hated for it. To die.


End file.
